Chapter 3

Felipe wandered aimlessly, holding a stick in his hand, absent-mindedly hitting bushes on both sides. He had no desire to be at home, primarily because of the man he had adored as a child.
Felipe had eagerly anticipated the return of his great hero. He didn't have clear memories of the day Diego found him on the battlefield. What he remembered was shrouded in a strange mist, but he vividly recalled how he had felt: scared, lonely, sad, hopeless. Then, from the drifting smoke, an angel appeared. The angel spoke to him—or at least Felipe saw the lips move, but there was no sound. Later, he learned that he had lost, temporarily, his ability to hear. At that moment, he believed the angel had come to take him to heaven.

However, the angel turned out to be a flesh-and-blood man. Instead of taking him to heaven, the man smiled kindly and extended his hand. Despite his fear, Felipe instantly knew he could trust him. Diego had taken him to a huge horse, placing him in the saddle. When Diego realized Felipe couldn't hear or speak, he patiently used gestures to convey his thoughts.

Felipe couldn't express his name in gestures. But Diego, after finding out the boy couldn't hear him and was unable to speak, ever resourceful, suggested calling him Felipe, meaning "lover of horses," and even mentioned a king with the same name.

Therefore, Felipe couldn't understand how Diego could forget the sign for Felipe. Diego, who had left for Spain, had always found ways to communicate with gestures, taking the time to explain, no matter how long it took. The current Diego barely spared him a glance, treating him like a bothersome fly that dared to land on his arm. Diego had never raised his voice or glared at him before. Nowadays, it seemed that was all he did.

Felipe had asked don Alejandro for his opinion on the matter. The don had smiled apologetically, attributing it to various factors: the long journey, fatigue, lack of sleep, bad mood, and the pressure of more important matters. The city's life changed people, don Alejandro had said, somewhat embarrassed. According to don Alejandro, Diego had grown up and become a man.

But could someone truly change so much? The only thing Felipe recognized from his memories of Diego was his appearance and the tone of his voice. And even that seemed different. It had been over four years since Diego left for Spain, probably when he was eight or nine, so he might remember things differently than they were. However, even in his memory, Diego's smiles had always lifted at the corners, with a kind look in his eyes. The returned Diego laughed differently—cold, insincere. Nowadays, Diego only laughed with his mouth, not his eyes. And certainly not at him. The memories Felipe had of Diego were from a child who adored the man. Don Alejandro was sure his son had come home. Surely, the don would recognize his son. The don was absolutely certain the man who had returned was his son. If it wasn't Diego's fault, it must be his own for remembering and imagining things differently. Disappointed, Felipe struck a rock with a branch, wishing Diego had never gone to Spain to study.
Lost in thought, Felipe was suddenly seized by two strong arms.

"Looking for our hideout, stupid runt? You won't find it." A man whispered with a sinister undertone. Felipe froze immediately with fear, feeling his heart pounding in his throat. What did these men want from him? He had just wandered off during a walk, not looking for anything.

From behind the rocks where Felipe had hit with the stick earlier, another man appeared. He looked unshaven and unwashed, emitting a foul odour. This other man laughed coldly. "All alone? A bit stupid, don't you think? This is a dangerous area."
The menacing tone in the man's voice was terrifying. "Got nothing to give us? A few pesos, maybe?"

Felipe shook his head. He had nothing of value with him.

"What's wrong? Can't catch your tongue?" Both bandits laughed at the feeble remark. The bandit holding him tightened his grip around Felipe's neck while searching his pockets for anything of value.
"I think he's got nothing, Juan."

"That's a shame for him." The man called Juan approached Felipe. "Otherwise, we might let you go. Now we can't risk you going to that idiotic alcalde and betraying us."

"Will you betray us if we let you go, runt?" hissed another bandit, tightening his grip around Felipe's neck, his eyes gleaming with a malicious kind of pleasure. Felipe, terrified, vigorously shook his head. He had to try to convince the bandits to let him go, or his last hour was surely at hand. However, he couldn't speak. As far as he knew, he had never been able to. Only a choked kind of groan escaped Felipe's throat.

"What's wrong with you? Too stupid to say anything," grumbled Juan, grabbing Felipe's hair and roughly yanking his head backwards. Helpless, Felipe tried in vain to make a sound. "You're supposed to be begging for your life."

The other bandit ruthlessly threw Felipe to the ground. "Seems like he's too dumb to talk. Let's see how many fingers we must cut off before he remembers how to say please."

A feeling of darkness enveloped Felipe like a suffocating blanket.

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With a heavy heart, don Alejandro entered the tavern around siesta time. The building was deserted, with only Victoria busily clearing tables.
She looked up to see who had entered and seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. "Don Alejandro, I was about to close. But if you want, the stew is still warm."

Alejandro signalled that it wasn't necessary. "No, thank you. I actually came to talk to you."

Victoria looked surprised. It wasn't common for the don to come to the tavern only to speak to her. "Let me close up first so no one will interrupt us. Would you like me to pour us something to drink? There is a canteen of juice on the counter."

While Victoria brought the last dishes to the kitchen and then slid the bar in front of the door, Alejandro poured two glasses of orange juice. They found a spot near the stairs.

Alejandro nervously turned his glass in his hands. He clearly struggled to find the right words for what he wanted to say. "Victoria," he finally began, his voice hesitant. "Could you please tell me how you remember Diego?"
The question caught Victoria off guard.
"Your brothers were his best friends, and you got along well with him too. Maybe my memories have faded. Perhaps I've forgotten the less pleasant things and now only remember what I want to recall."

"I..." Victoria respected don Alejandro, and yes, she had always been fond of Diego. As a teenager, she had secretly had a crush on him. When he walked into the tavern two weeks ago, he had taken her breath away. The butterflies in her stomach, which she had dismissed as something for teenagers long ago, fluttered more vigorously and powerfully than ever before. However, that feeling quickly subsided.

Alejandro looked at her imploringly. "Please be honest with me, Victoria. Am I mistaken, or has Diego changed a lot in Spain?"

Victoria avoided Alejandro's gaze. She didn't want to speak ill of Diego. She respected the man she regarded as a father too much to dissapoint him, and his son for that matter. "He's obviously matured. And things might be different in Spain than here," she replied evasively.

Alejandro leaned towards Victoria, took her hand, and asked, "Victoria, please tell me what you think. This morning, Sophia came to me in tears. She resigned. Upon further questioning, she told me that Diego had hit her after treating her badly, and she refused his advances."

"Oh dear," stammered Victoria, alarmed.

"I apologized to her and gave her enough money to get by for at least a year so she could find herself a new job. I'm asking you to tell me the truth. Do you recognize Diego?"
Alejandro noticed that Victoria had turned pale. A terrible thought occurred to him. "Victoria, did Diego do something to you too?"

Victoria shook her head. In a strained voice, she said, "Not to me. To Alicia. He thought the coffee she served was too cold and threw his cup in her direction. At the time it happened, I was at the market. Otherwise, I would have certainly denied him access to the tavern."

Alejandro mumbled, "This all doesn't sound like the Diego I remember. Am I mistaken?"

"No, nor to me. I don't recognize Diego as I remember him. I am sure there is a reasonable explanation for it." Victoria tried to smile in an effort to reassure the don.

Alejandro furrowed his brow in concern. "I was afraid you would say that. I'll talk to Diego. Tell him I won't tolerate such behaviour from anyone. And try to find out if something happened in Spain that could explain the change in his behaviour."

Victoria doubted whether such a significant change in someone's behaviour was possible. "Could that be?"

Deep wrinkles were visible on the don's face. "My dear, all I know about this kind of change in character is what I've seen in the army. Young men, good, brave boys, turning into monsters. I hope to God it's all just a misunderstanding. But something must have happened."

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Felipe stared in terror at the bandit Juan, holding a large dagger in his hand. He had clenched his hands into fists. Juan had Felipe's wrist pressed firmly into the sand. Tears burned in Felipe's eyes, and he had never fervently wished in his life that he could speak, even when it was just to do what the man had ordered. Beg for his life.

Just as suddenly as the bandit had seized Felipe earlier, a third man appeared out of nowhere. He held a large sword in his hand. "It doesn't become you to unnecessarily frighten a child," the mysterious man spoke.

Juan jumped up, and like the other bandit, he drew his sword. Felipe sat up, breathless and still paralysed with fear, watching the sword fight unfold before his eyes. The man who had last appeared faced the two bandits simultaneously without breaking a sweat. His movements, faster than one could imagine, were purposeful strikes that amazed Felipe.

The unknown man was taller and more muscular than the bandits. His black hair gleamed in the sunlight, while the bandits' hair looked dull due to the dust. The man skilfully parried every attack. His sword danced as an extension of his arm, a graceful whirlwind of effective strikes. However, the bandits were not willing to surrender easily. The man had subdued one bandit and now focused on Juan. The bandit drew his pistol and aimed it at Felipe's saviour. Felipe wanted to warn the man. He needed to shout. Let the man know that his life was in danger.

Despite Felipe being convinced he had not made a sound, it was as if the man had heard him because he turned on his axis and skilfully and forcefully kicked the pistol out of the bandit's hand in Felipe's direction. Felipe jumped up and rushed toward the pistol. He had to get hold of it before the bandit did.
Felipe barely managed to slide his fingers around the iron handle before the bandit. Without thinking, Felipe pointed the pistol at the bandit, who promptly raised his hands.

"Be careful, kid. You can seriously hurt someone with that thing."
While the other bandit spoke, Juan felt the cold steel of a Toledo steel sword pressing against his throat.

The unknown man gestured to get Felipe's attention as he said, "In my saddlebag, there's a rope. Could you go and get it? I have a strong suspicion that these two belong behind bars."

Startled, Felipe looked at the man. Amidst all the commotion, he hadn't had a good look at him before.

The man's voice was like a familiar melody, a tone that Felipe would recognize among thousands. Patient and laced with kindness and gentleness. Those few spoken words revealed a man with a kind-hearted, honest, and trustworthy character. His voice reflected a deep conviction always to see the best in people, a sound of genuine compassion and understanding.
A voice Felipe had started to believe never to hear again. Even while everyone said, the man carrying this voice had returned to the hacienda two weeks earlier.

His saviour's name was Diego de la Vega.

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